“Your suggestion, as I recollect,” Mr. Gibson whispered to Fanny.
“...and here, over here, ma’am, as you will observe, we have buckets of sand, always ready in the event of fire, in every corner of the room.”
“These buckets? The large red ones, marked, ‘Fire’?” Mrs. Perceval asked composedly, and Fanny and Mr. Gibson had to bite the insides of their cheeks.
Their honoured guest was at last free to turn her kindly gaze upon Fanny’s pupils, and Fanny held her breath as Mrs. Perceval made her inspection, with a smile and a nod of her head for every little sempstress, from the tallest to the smallest, from the boldest to the most timid.
When the august visitor had completed her circuit of the classroom she was met by Tansy, the youngest student, who presented her with a small bouquet of silk violets tied together neatly with white ribbon. There could be heard amidst the ranks of the pupils, a soft intake of breath as Tansy commenced her low curtsey, and upon her successful re-ascent, two score girls exhaled in relief.
“Oh, how charming!” exclaimed the lady, admiring the bouquet. “These flowers are cunningly made indeed—I assume your students made them all! How well done! Their little fingers are so nimble!”
“And these lovely, colourful sashes,” she added, addressing herself to Mrs. Blodgett, “which all of your committee ladies are wearing—these also were created by your students, were they not?”
“Indeed yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Blodgett responded with visible pride. “Every sash is made of multiple pieces of fabric, as you can see, skilfully pieced together, and embroidered with a variety of stitches, spelling out the initials of our Society for Bettering the Condition and Improving the Comforts of the Poor. Our girls are perfecting their talents while making them, using the leftover scraps from our enterprise, and many are now sufficiently skilled to ornament the gowns for our customers.”
“Very commendable, Mrs. Blodgett. Your program reflects great credit upon your instructress,” Mrs. Perceval added, and this was accompanied by a kind smile and a nod of the head to Fanny.
Fanny curtsied, and could not help beaming at her students with pleasure and triumph. Something about Fanny’s sweet smile appealed to Mrs. Perceval, and she took a step nearer to her and murmured, “You know, being in this place brings back many irresistible memories. Mr. Perceval and I began our married life together above a carpet shop, in a warehouse like this. How we froze in the wintertime!”
Fanny smiled and curtsied again, but Mr. Blodgett, standing nearby, whispered to Mr. Gibson, “And now they have a dozen children—not difficult to guess how Perceval kept the lady warm!”
Unfortunately Mr. Blodgett’s voice, in the large, bare, high-ceilinged room, carried a little farther than he intended. Mrs. Blodgett shot her husband a piercing look.
“And if you will follow me, ma’am, we may now examine the upstairs cutting and sewing room, and then we will enjoy a cold collation. This way, Mrs. Perceval, ma’am.”
Chapter Eight
In the time that had elapsed since Edmund Bertram’s previous visit to his Price cousins, two more sons, Sam and Tom, were gone—Sam, to serve as a midshipman, while Tom was bound apprentice to an apothecary. Distressed as always for money, the Prices had removed themselves to smaller quarters. Susan and her younger sister Betsey shared a tiny garret bedroom, the door of which could not even be opened entirely because the bed blocked the way, and the room which served as both parlour and dining room barely accommodated their old table and chest of drawers. Mr. Price nevertheless took his same favourite spot in his armchair by the fireplace, and the servant had to push past him to get back and forth from the kitchen. Fortunately he spent his time abroad more often than at home, in the company of old comrades at the docks, but upon his return, his booming voice reached to the attic, in competition with the noise of Charles and little Betsey, who had never been taught to regulate their voices or their movements, to discriminate between being indoors and out.
Edmund still recollected the limited accommodation and unlimited anarchy of the Price household, and took rooms at the Crown for himself and his sister. No sooner did they arrive, however, than Julia clamoured to be escorted to her uncle’s house. She had never been to Portsmouth and was determined to like it. She pronounced the dirt, the smells, and the noise to be ‘colourful, boisterous and charming.’ The winding streets through which Edmund escorted her, were ‘quaint and interesting,’ and the Price’s home itself was ‘cosy and home-like.’
Julia arrived with gifts; there was a tin of tea, and a large box of beeswax candles, and new bonnets for Susan and Betsey, and a book on navigation for young Charles, the last boy still at home. She received the kindest reception from her girl cousins. Susan was pleased to improve her friendship with Julia, and Betsey was in awe of the tall, fair-haired beauty. But alas! the salutation from her aunt Price, the woman she hoped to call her mother-in-law, was more restrained. There was no knowing glance, no special smile reserved just for her, no affectionate squeeze of her hand.
“This is very good of you, Miss Julia, I must say, to bring us these lovely little gifts,” she said. “And I expect my sister Norris has a message or a parcel she has sent by you?”
“Indeed ma’am, we came away so quickly, we did not inform our Aunt. I am afraid we were very thoughtless,” said Julia.
“Ha! She would have tried to travel as ballast with you, to save herself the cost of the fare! You did well to slip your cable so quietly, and have my hearty thanks for it,” cried Mr. Price, who had vivid memories of a
